Same As It Never Was
by LiveHardDieHonest
Summary: People change and forget to tell anyone. In the same way, people stay the same and forget to admit it.


It had been six years, one week and four days.

The heels of Santana's shiny black shoes echoed with each step. These hallways, that locker, the gym; everything held Brittany. She was permanently engrained into every corner, crack and doorway, making it difficult for Santana to walk as she inched closer to the choir room, yet another reminder.

She had a wrapped box in her hand, still unsure why she'd brought it. It could be potentially awkward but she was certain she could play it off somehow and outwardly show as much distain for her presence as possible. If she hadn't already planned on being in town, she wouldn't have come but she did not want to miss an opportunity to watch the famous Rachel Berry make a fool of herself.

* * *

><p>The choir room was filled with people, all former acquaintance of hers and a few friends. There was a table with a large gold star in the middle, no doubt the table of Mrs. Broadway Star Berry. She had always been one for dramatics but Santana could help but think that this was over kill, even for her. It wasn't like anyone expected Rachel to do anything but become the next Barbara Streisand; she had the damn beak for it. Either way, people were gathered in <em>her<em> honor, by _her_ invitation, to celebrate _her_ first leading role. And people thought Santana was self-centered.

No matter, she was there. So were Puck and Quinn, though they were trying to act like they weren't having 'un-dress me now' eye sex. She rolled her eyes; those two never could get their shit together. Mike and Tina were with Artie, trying not to laugh at Kurt and Mercedes, who had shown up wearing oddly similar outfits. Finn, being the ever confused boy he was, stood at Rachel's table with his goofy smile, although the guest of honor was nowhere to be found. Santana knew, deep down in her judgment bitch of a gut, that the Rachel Berry she knew would offer nothing short of a hero's welcome for herself.

But then there was Brittany. In reality, she was the only thing Santana could truly see. Everyone else was a blur. She stood gracefully by herself at a table that had nametags and seat placement maps on it. She kept turning around, surveying the room and then back to the table. She was trying to figure out Rachel's organizational need for a seating chart, although no one else seemed to care.

She was still as beautiful as Santana remembered, not that it was ever a danger of forgetting how striking the woman was. It was engrained in who she was—a woman to whom no one could ever measure up. She would have been content to stand there all night, throughout Rachel's antics and ridiculous speeches and inevitable singing, but she felt a hand on her shoulder, flinching at the contact.

"If you're going to stare, you need to make it less obvious."

Puck made no eye contact. He simply stood beside her, letting her dictate the conversation, assuming there was one to be had. He had grown a lot. Not physically, but he seemed calmer, as though time had stripped him of his boyish ways and replaced her party-animal friend with a mature, stable, sane man. It was different but, the years of knowing him under her belt, Santana fully believed that the rebel in him was still there, just dulled.

"It's hard."

"It always was," he retorted, finally looking at her, taking in how she, too, had grown, aged in a way. Had anyone else uttered such a blunt admission of her feelings, she would have resurrected the bitch in her, slinging some below the belt comment making reference to the part of themselves they hated the most. But this was Puck. The boy…the man who knew everything. He, deep down in places he refused to talk about back then, always had.

"Do you think she ever…" Santana couldn't finish her statement. She couldn't decide if she wanted to ask if she'd ever moved on, or ever thought about her, or if she really wanted to know at all. Sometimes it was easier to have secrets.

"Probably not, all the time, and yes, you do." Puck responded as though Santana had spoken out loud. "Oh and no, they are never a good idea. Learned that one the hard way," he added, making Santana smile and rest her head on his shoulder. He didn't move to hold her, but he didn't move away either. He knew her too well to do either.

She had missed him; Brittany the most, but Puck because, next to the blonde, he was the only one that ever knew the truth. Everyone else had their suspicions, their behind the scenes conversations and assumptions but only three people, Brittany, Puck and herself, knew that Santana had been heels over head in love.

* * *

><p>Puck opened his mouth to speak but there was a loud clinging sound, resembling a drunk tinker bell learning to play the tambourine, which came from the speakers hovering above them that crackled with age. Everyone knew to look instantly to the stage where Rachel Berry, spotlighted and holding her pink and sliver microphone, had emerged wearing her red and black plaid skirt a little too high on her rib cage, a plain white, tucked in, button up shirt and a bright red headband. Her shoes were hidden by the wooden podium, but it wasn't hard to image a pair of black grandma flats adorning her feet, with knee high socks of course.<p>

"Fellow former glee clubbers," she began, gaining snickers from the crowd. "I have assembled you all here to commemorate what I am sure you all have known for a while, given my vast amount of talent, unequalled by anyone in our days at McKinley High," she paused for dramatic effect, the audience sat impatiently but she smiled and continued through their aggravation. "My Broadway Stardom. Yes, that is right; the world has finally recognized my broad range of abilities, unlike all of you who failed to see when we were younger. But I have forgiven you for that. Before you applaud, I wish to continue by thanking you all for taking time out of your busy, yet arguably less exciting, lives to join me in celebrating."

There a silence, everyone waiting to see if she was done, before the quiet mummer of voices filled the room, basically ignoring everything the woman said, they were merely happy to be in the same room again. Finn, still smiling like the idiot he could be, walked over the stage and struck up a, no doubt, fruitless conversation where he most likely said something out of place, awkward and board line groan worthy. But Rachel wouldn't care. She would still think the sun shined out of his ass. They were the couple that, once they got their shit together, after the whole, drawn out, ridiculous Quinn debacle was actually mildly perfect for each other, in their dorky, somehow cute way.

It hurt to watch them though. She thought the sun shined out Brittany, too.

Mike and Tina had drifted off into their own world, focusing only on each other. Their relationship was one that people tended to overlook. They were the only couple in the band of misfits that, once they got together, stayed together. They gave the rest of the club hope that a relationship could be private, drama free and unconditional. Santana wondered if they had ever thought of having those Asian babies everyone was so anxious for them to have. They would be lucky kids; Mike would be the badass dancer dad and Tina would let her children grow up to be whoever and whatever they wanted.

But she was forced to look away; that was too close to what she could have had. What she wanted to have.

Artie wheeled over to Mercedes and Kurt who were still trying to rearrange their outfits to look as dissimilar as possible. They were using him as a coat rack as they took off layers and switched them around. That was a trio she would have never put together although it made sense now that she was seeing it in action. Of course Mercedes and Kurt went together but Artie sort of floated around throughout the group welcome almost anywhere he went. He was a good natured guy and as honest as they come. Santana could tell by the look on Kurt's face that maybe he was being a little too honest. Artie had taken the role of a talking mirror and did not approve of the stylish man's attire, although Mercedes definitely enjoyed the moment.

Quinn had migrated to where Brittany stood, giving up on finding a seat and settling for standing so as to not take anyone's assigned place. The two blondes were feet apart, but appeared to be in a conversation. Santana was one of the few people who knew that they were actually great friends. No one else saw it or cared to find out, but they were. They, along with Santana, had made up the unholy trinity. The unstoppable, untamable, unattainable trio that stalked the halls of McKinley high, making every boy wish he was man enough to so much as speak to them. No one thought the two blondes had enough to common to stand on their own together, but Santana knew better.

Puck was still standing next to her, leaving most people to assume they were planning on finding the nearest closet. They knew otherwise. They were each other's most important person, a trusted ally, a friend no one knew about. They were content to let people see their physical relationship because it made them easier to fear. Noah Puckerman and Santana Lopez together were a couple people more than happily left alone. They were secure together. Apart they were vulnerable. Their bad ass exteriors stayed intact when they pretended to be into each other. They were okay with that.

And then she went back to Brittany. Knowing she was so far flying under her radar, since she'd only spoken to Puck. Santana found herself staring, again. Did she have to right to speak to her? God knows she didn't deserve her. But knowing Brittany the way she did, she was left to wonder if anyone could ever truly deserve the woman. She was everything good, decent, and wonderful in the world. Santana lifted her head off of Puck's shoulder and he shifted to his left, away from the woman beside him.

"You gonna go talk to her?"

"Eventually."

"I'm pretty sure we're past eventually. We're into 'never going to happen' or 'going to happen tonight', as in right now."

Santana knew he was right, knew that courage was fleeting and as stubborn and quick witted as she was, it did not translate fluently into being brave. She was a coward when it came to Brittany: terrified to lose her, terrified to love her. It was a lose-lose situation for everyone, especially the bubbly blonde.

Quinn turned around, feeling eyes gazing her direction and saw Santana looking, although she knew it wasn't at her. She waved nonetheless, gaining a soft smile and a hand raise from the woman across the room. She wasn't sure exactly how Santana felt since their conversations were generally loud, involved a slap or two and almost never ended well, but she knew Brittany definitely wanted her. She never asked outright but she saw the way Brittany looked at her; it was the same way she looked at Puck, wishing he would get himself together and sweep her off her feet.

She pointed through herself at the blonde standing next to her, asking if Santana had already talked to her or if she wanted to. She would gladly move aside, she understood the pain of holding on with nothing to cling to but the hope that the way your heart flutters isn't a lie.

Santana understood the gesture and held up her wrapped box, signifying she came prepared for at least one conversation. Quinn gave a small nod before saying something to Brittany and walking away. Santana knew there was a possibility that she would only get one shot at this; not that it helped her muster the strength to move. Puck offered his muscle as he pushed her in the right direction. It proved to be enough.

* * *

><p>She walked up to Brittany extending her box, as though it was the one with something to say. Brittany saw the object from the corner of her eye and turned to see Santana standing there, speechless. At first she smiled. Then, when Santana's eyes showed caution, her smile became nothing more than a painted lie on her face. She had been waiting to see if Santana would show up, half knowing she would, half hoping she wouldn't. Six years was a long time.<p>

"It's for Lord Tubbington," Santana began, seeing as the box seemed to lose its vocal chords at the worst possible moment. "I'm sorry; I know you guys had your problems, but he loved you."

"It was a year ago."

"Better late than never." That seemed to be the motto for her life, for her actions, for Brittany.

"Thank you," she said, finally taking the offering. Santana _would_ bring a present in memory of a childhood pet that Brittany was more than certain she didn't like to begin with.

"You, um…you look…"

"You too," Brittany half-whispered, knowing Santana was struggling to stand there and not run back to Puck, who was trying to not look like he was watching. She knew that when Santana didn't come to her, she went to him. It used to bother her, back in high school, when she would see them together because she knew only of the clear physical bond they had. But one night she overheard her talking to him on the phone and it was about serious stuff, in no way a booty call or anything resembling one. After that she concluded that Puck was probably Santana's only other true friend. For that, she loved the man.

Santana swayed slightly on her feet. Talking to her should not be this difficult. It should be simple. Like breathing. Like it always had been. But it wasn't. "How have you…"

"Good…you?"

"Good," Santana barely whispered, lost in the sea of calmness Brittany's eyes held. There were no words for how they made her melt. She lost her concentration, her ability to function, her nerve. They were toxic. They were her kryptonite.

"I hear you got that offer from that place you wanted." Santana wasn't sure if she was making sense, she was simply happy words were coming out.

Brittany stared at her before answering. She knew what offer and what place. What she didn't know was how Santana knew about it. Sensing her hesitation, she intervened on her own question. "You're parents told mine and they told me."

"Oh," Brittany nodded. That cleared it up. Their parents still lived in Lima and had known each other for over twenty years, of course they still talked. "Yeah I did."

"Are you going to take it?"

"Probably. I wanted it remember," Brittany smiled.

"Right, yeah. Of course." Santana felt the blood rush to her face. How Brittany could manage to smile and turn her world upside down, even after years apart, blew her mind. They stood there for a moment watching their old classmates mingle and poke fun at each other, oblivious to the internal struggle the two women were showcasing.

"I'm um…I'm going to walk away now." Apologies were useless, they pasted those years ago. Small talk was awkward. Silence was unnatural. What else could she do?

Brittany smiled her understanding. Watching the space between them increase, she couldn't help but feel as though the hope she'd been holding onto was walking away as well. Maybe she could finally move on, find somebody who was big enough to push Santana out of her mind for more than an hour at a time. In the pit of her stomach she knew no person existed who was capable of such a feat.

It was too big. Even for Father Time himself.

Santana didn't look back once although she had to fight herself for the power not to. She could see the sympathy in Puck's eyes; he knew instantly she was about to fall apart. This was probably his only shot to make his friend understand that time was of the essence. She had run out of tomorrows. That moment was the tomorrow she'd always assumed she had. The next day would be too late.

"Come on. I wanna show you something." The woman looked at him, lost. "I promise it's worth it."

* * *

><p>Quinn saw Puck and Santana walk sneak out the back door. Back in high school she would have assumed, like everyone else, that they were off 'not-dating' each other. But something about the way Puck held the door open and kept his hands to himself, caused her to have a moment of pause.<p>

Brittany noticed her gaze and quickly moved to correct the thoughts she knew Quinn was having. "They were friends when everyone thought they were bed-buddies."

The shorter blonde turned around and saw Brittany watching her. "They _were_ bed-buddies, you know that right?"

"Yeah," Brittany said, ducking her head down. She knew that but it was something she was uncomfortable remembering. "But I also know that when…well when everything happened, he was the only one she talked too. He was the only one who listened to her side and tried to understand her. He used to let her spend the night just so he could wrap his arm around her, to hold her together. She only told her feelings, whatever they were or may be, to him. The way I see it, he can take her wherever he wants to. He's her best friend."

Quinn stared in utter shock. Brittany had never spoken so well, or in such amounts, before. Even when she was listening to her the weeks following graduation, her statements had been random, out of order, fragmented. Quinn pieced it together but time had done wonders for Brittany's ability to talk through her thoughts.

"You know you still are too," she finally answered. "A different kind of best friend but one nonetheless. And I don't care if she admits it. She's Santana. She'd admit to a crime before admitting she cared."

Brittany shrugged, trying to smile. She didn't want to be the woman's friend or have her merely care. It wasn't enough.

* * *

><p>Going to his cab of his truck, Puck reached under his seat and pulled out a book, the back cover breaking at the seams. Hopping up on the tailgate, where he left his friend to wait, he threw it in her lap. 'McKinley High 2012' was written vividly in red, as though a day had passed, not just over six years.<p>

"I thought I lost this," she whispered, looking at the book as though it were a ghost, a fragment of a hope she had as a child that she had grown out of, left behind, forgotten.

"You didn't lose it; you ignored it. You left it at my place the summer before you jetted across the country." With Santana, sometimes it was more important to demand her attention by mildly insulting her than be entirely truthful; she hadn't exactly jetted but she certainly didn't mosey about. When he saw that she had let the comment roll of her back, focused solely on the pages in her hand, he knew he was wasting time, any minute now she'd shut him out completely.

"Do you remember how, in high school, we were bad-asses and nobody thought twice about looking at us funny?" Santana nodded, smirking at the fond memory of being respected out of fear.

"Well, we've changed. We've calmed down. Me because I became a father. But you, you fell in love. I get that Lima, Ohio wasn't the place to act on that love, but baby girl, we left this joint years ago and we showed the world what bad-assing is all about," he teased softly nudging her before returning to his point.

"But so did she. Some things aren't meant to change. You needing her is one of them. I got mad love for you, Lopez and I respect you, but there's something wrong with the universe if you're gonna be out and proud, and not be with your woman. And don't give me that bull shit excuse that's she's not yours. She's yours."

Pulling the back cover open, careful to not tear it apart, he didn't have to point out why he had brought this up. The rainbows and smiley faces and cute attempts at a regal cat were clues enough. Besides Santana knew every word; she had read it over and over again as though, somehow, if she stopped reading it, it would cease to be true. However, it, like everything else about Brittany, was still as much a part of her as her hands, her eyes, her heart.

"It's not that easy."

He stared down at the page, watching her fingers gently graze over the ink; words he knew were written into who she was. She truly thought she'd screwed up that bad. So bad, that even Brittany would reject her. The fear made sense since she was the one who rejected the blonde those many years ago. He knew she didn't mean it. She knew she didn't mean it. Brittany knew as well. Whether that meant she was ready to be all-forgiving was a matter to be left for them, but Puck knew that some things just made sense. _They_ made sense.

"Actually, it is." She looked up at him and could see the sincerity in his eyes. "She wrote that _after_ your brain fart. For someone people think is clueless, the girl knows a thing or two about love and about loving you. I know you want to forget that because it makes tonight easier. But does it make tomorrow easier? The next day? How about next year? Your pride made a mistake when we were eighteen but your heart or soul, whichever one you love her from, can correct it. I have faith in you, Santana. Have a little faith in her."

He hopped down from his truck and patted her leg. "Shut it when you're done, would ya?"

She nodded slowly, keeping her eye glued to the array of bright colors that lit up the entire back page of her yearbook.

* * *

><p>When she walked back into the choir room, Mr. Schue had arrived and taken the microphone from Rachel who had finally found her table. Everyone expect Ms. Berry herself, sigh collectively in relief. As annoying as his speeches on hard-work, dedication and dreaming big were, they were several notches above any rambling monologue from the self-proclaimed glee club captain.<p>

People had their feet on the back of chairs, their arms and legs around their significant other. They were whispering across the ales, mimicking the teacher's word choice only half-listening to the echo that boomed from the speakers. Brittany sat behind Puck, the only one on her row. She seemed to be the only one paying any true attention.

Was she ready to do this? Put her heart on the line like Brittany had? Could she walk up to the woman she loved and tell her that she was sorry? Useless or not it was true. Could she tell her she thought of her every day, regretted her actions every second of that day. That she was too afraid to pick up a phone and hear her voice because then her feelings would be real, non-negotiable, unavoidable? She wasn't sure she could do that.

But she did know Puck was, once again, right. Today was the last tomorrow she was getting.

Leaving a seat between them, Santana sat to Brittany's left, getting her attention. The blonde smiled an honest-to-god, mega watt smile. When her eyes danced like that, Santana's only choice was to smile back.

Mr. Schue was being interrupted every few sentences by Finn, then Kurt, Mercedes to agree with Kurt, Puck once, Finn again, Rachel to explain Finn's statement in painstaking detail, Quinn to tell Rachel to shut up and finally Artie to ask what was going on, which was quietly explained by Tina. Mike just sort of sat there. Normally Santana would have been right after Finn the first time and Brittany would have followed Puck's one liner with one of her own, but the two women sat quietly, watching the practiced scene unfold. They weren't in the mood to join the delightful banter. Nobody seemed to notice though. At least nobody said anything when they missed their usual cues.

Mr. Schue managed to regain control of the room and Santana took a napkin out of her back pocket. She'd obtained it from Puck's truck and used it to plan out what she wanted to say. What she knew she needed to say. And she knew there would be only one way to verbalize everything: her apology, her regret, her undying, unconditional love. She put it on the chair that separated her from Brittany, pushing it closer to the blonde.

Her former teacher was toasting to Rachel and the success of every glee clubber in attendance, but Brittany heard the squeak as the chair reached her side. Looking down she saw the folded napkin and glanced over at Santana who was staring straight ahead. She smiled softly. She knew Santana had trouble with words but passing notes as twenty-four year olds was something she never saw them doing. Then again, she never saw them here, where note passing was necessary.

She let it sit there, untouched, for several moments, unsure if she was prepared for what it said. Or, in this case, didn't say. It could be anything from 'I love you' to 'I made the right decision years ago.' She couldn't be certain and that caused her to pause.

Quinn looked her way, almost as if she was checking on her, making sure she didn't need anything. She smiled, sending her appreciative decline of her help. She didn't need assistance; she needed that napkin to be positive. It may have been years and she may not have seen her during that time but love is not a wound time can heal. It can only dull it and it had failed her in that too.

Reaching over, making sure no one could see her, Brittany put the napkin in her lap, opened it and was stunned to see words she, herself, had written years ago in an old, forgettable yearbook, newly etched in Santana's neat hand writing.

_I don't want you to ever think, for one second of any day for the rest of your life, that someone doesn't love you. Cause I do. So much. You're my best friend. From the day we met to today until time stops. So when you're struggling or miss home or just need to smile again, remember that there is a girl out there thinking of you, missing you, loving you. Things didn't work out the way I wanted, but I'm still yours. Proudly so. And no amount of time will change that. I pinky-promise._

_I'm not drawing you any hearts or rainbows but you can pretend I did if it'll make you mine._

Brittany looked up to see a tear falling down Santana's face, which was still dutifully faced forward. Even feeling those crystal blue eyes on her, she didn't deter her sight line.

Pushing the empty chair back towards Santana, Brittany watched as Mercedes and Kurt yelled something to Rachel who had placed her hands on her hips in obvious protest. Quinn snickered every time Kurt made a valid point and Finn had his eyes wide open, content to let Rachel handle things herself. Puck slouched in his chair, arms crossed, not caring much about what was in front of him. He was more concerned with the silent women behind him, although he was almost nervous to look. Mr. Schue had back off, letting things get way out of hand before intervening telling them they were acting like children.

Brittany skillfully rose from her chair, wiped nonexistent dust or water or a leaf, she hadn't decided what it was yet, off her pants forcing her to move one chair to the left. Settling into her seat, she rested her hands on her lap. Thinking for a moment, she decided she might as well give it a shot, although it would be new for them both. Reaching out she uncrossed Santana's arms and took her right hand in her left.

Santana looked more uncertain than upset, which was taken as a good sign. She looked down at her hand, entangling in Brittany's. It was sensation she had never known. To hold the hand of the person she loved—the person who forced her to believe in miracles, in magic, in forever. It was almost too much. They were pinky holders. It was their thing.

She saw the confusion raging in Santana's eyes, but Brittany didn't want just her pinky anymore. She wanted her whole hand, every part of her. Pinkies meant secrets and secrets meant nothing had changed. Her hand meant that everyone was forced to realize that Santana was hers and she was Santana's. Nothing else mattered.

"I want more."

Santana knew that it would take time for them to work through their past to get to the present so they could have a future but she would work forever, as long as Brittany kept looking at her like that, like she was the only person worth looking at, worth holding, worth loving.

* * *

><p>There was still audible bickering coming from the front near the stage. Mercedes had her finger waving furiously, no doubt offended by Rachel's comment. Quinn had moved to sit beside Puck, both keeping to the confinement of their chairs, speaking softly. Finn was raising his hand, hoping to get a word in. Artie was glancing around trying to find someone to make it stop. Mike and Tina were still in their little bubble, everyone content to leave them there. They looked happy.<p>

Brittany rested her head on Santana's shoulder as the first few notes of a song played out over the speakers. Rachel had taken the microphone back, despite the attempts of several members of the audience. She had dedicated one of her new Broadway songs to Finn. Not that anyone expected anything less. Everyone all but checked out of reality for the next three to five long, _long_ minutes, asking themselves why on earth they agreed to come in the first place.

Mr. Schue moved to the side of the stage, resting on the back of a chair. Rachel started to sing, her voice still as magnificent as it was in high school. Maybe even better, but no one was ready to verbalize that. Rachel was friend regardless of her egotistical nature but some compliments opened the flood gates of self-praise. No one wanted that.

Mike and Puck simultaneously draped their arms around the women next to them, the women responding by leaning into their shoulders. Kurt reached out and grabbed Mercedes' hand, accepting that if he was going to listen to Rachel, he was going to have moral support from the one other person who understood his friendly-hatred of the singer. Artie made eye-contact with Santana and offered an understanding smile and wave. Somehow with Brittany around her, she seemed to always be leaps and bounds happier, especially because Brittany appeared to be more than content, into a world of blissful joy.

Somehow everything was the same as it never was six years, one week and four days ago.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Would you believe that I have zero idea where this came from? I literally woke up at three in the morning and couldn't sleep until this was written. I wasn't going to post it, but then I thought, 'hell I wrote the damn thing, somebody might actually want to read it.' So hopefully someone does, but if not, that is totally fine. At least it's out of my head. I need to go take a nap so I can finish my other story, which ironically is the polar opposite of this one, go figure. Anyway hope it sorta made sense and was mildly enjoyable since you took the time to read it. Let me know.<p> 


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